


Stelle

by pibroch (littleblackdog)



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: F/M, Humour, Hurt/Comfort, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-16
Updated: 2010-02-16
Packaged: 2017-10-24 01:50:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 19,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/257547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littleblackdog/pseuds/pibroch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"The universe changed around me while I slept, and I've fought hard to catch up." Walking into hell? Well, at least she knew who had her back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Long the dark way, that scare the passage shews,_   
>  _The Guide and I to the bright world of light_   
>  _'Gan our return; nor car'd we for repose._   
>  _He first, I second, scal'd the lessening height,_   
>  _'Till the fair forms, that Heaven refulgent bears,_   
>  _Burst, through the rounded opening, on my sight:_   
>  _And thence we issued forth to see the stars._
> 
> _\- The Inferno, Dante_   
>  ****
> 
> * * *

When the door chimed, Shepard cursed quietly and scrubbed her hand across her eyes, hoping she could use her recent shower as an excuse for the redness and her general soppiness. For a brief moment she considered stashing the photo under the couch, but the thought of doing so made her feel even more pathetic than she already did. Self-conscious and painfully clumsy, she unfolded herself from her self-pitying wallow and set Kaidan carefully on the desk by her bed, flinching when the door chimed again.

"Yeah," she called out, running her hand too roughly through her damp hair. "Come in."

There was a pause, then a familiar hiss and whoosh as the door slid open. She looked at Garrus through the glass display of model ships (something she'd seen in captains' offices on countless ships and stations since she was a little kid, but to have it in her own quarters still seemed pretentious), forcing her expression into a friendly smirk.

She was incredibly glad to have even a fraction of her old crew with her on this damnable cage of a ship. Cerberus had bugs and mics and all manner of surveillance tech planted everywhere, and Shepard knew that no matter how much loyalty she might be able to inspire in the Cerberus hires, even if it was truly enough to make them _her_ crew someday, the Illusive Man had his finger on the button. One exceptionally wrong move, like telling him to shove his fucking operation up his shadowy ass and trying to commandeer the ship, and Shepard had no doubt that EDI would take over. No moves like their fieldtrip to Ilos this time. A damnable, gilded cage.

Shepard had lowered the lights before her shower in an attempt to lessen the pinging of her headache, and because the dimness made her sulking feel more private and less embarrassing on a ship where nothing actually was private. The blue glow of the fish tanks made Garrus look softer, more like how she remembered him from before. From that weird _doesn't-seem-like-very-long-but-shit-it-was-two-years-ago_ time. No, not softer, just… less hard.

Biting back a sigh, Shepard padded slowly around the corner. "Hey," she said almost warily, noting that Garrus was holding himself in that tense, formal way from when he'd still been fresh out of C-Sec. "What brings you up to the loft?"

His mandibles twitched, and there was noticeably more movement on the right side than there'd been even a week before. The scars were healing well, but Shepard had seen him right after the explosion, all ugly pulp and too-white bone and just _not enough head_ where there should have been. She understood that the man who stood before her right now, all fidgety and hesitant, was a minor miracle. Of course, she'd been extra pulpy, and yet there she was too.

"Commander—" Garrus rubbed his neck, seemingly more interested in her scarcely populated fish tanks than in actually meeting her gaze. "Still have that open-door policy? I want to talk to you about something— unless this is inappropriate, or an inconvenient time, or—"

"It's fine, Garrus." Jerking her head in invitation, she retreated back towards the couch, too brittle to try and keep herself professional and cool. This was Garrus, her very dear friend, and she wasn't about to try and be _Commander Shepard_ just for him. She was relieved when he followed her down— her shoulder ached, and she wanted to sit comfortably. That huge beetle-meets-hanar thing the Collectors had sent down to finish them off on Horizon had a nasty laser canon, and she'd been tired and stupid enough to let it flank her as she reloaded her pistol. The burn was healed already, thanks to Dr. Chakwas, but the joint was still stiff. But more than that, her spirit ached.

Sweet merciful crap, what a whiny little _child_ she was.

He sat, closer than she figured he would, and even though his mandibles fluttered again with a bit of nervousness, his voice was clear and firm. "I just wanted to make sure you were all right, after today. And if, well, if you wanted to talk about anything… You, you're my friend, and that looked really hard to deal with."

She noticed then that he was pointedly not looking over at the photo of Kaidan sitting so nearby, and she was mortified when her eyes started to grow hot and gritty again. She blinked, hard.

"I—" Swallowing against the way her voice cracked, Shepard took a deep breath. "I know why Kaidan's so angry, and I know why he's hurt. I mean, when I woke up in that lab, it was like I'd just seen him on the Normandy. I don't _feel_ like I've lost two years, but then I look around, and I see it in you and Joker and everybody else I knew, and I can see the weight of that time." Curling one leg up beside herself, Shepard stared at her model ships. One of them was the Normandy, as she had been. As she should be now, better tech and roomier _everything_ be damned. There shouldn't be a galley in Kaidan's workstation.

"You also know that none of that is your fault." It wasn't a question, and when Shepard glanced over she could see that Garrus' expression had gone steely, which on a turian face looked quite formidable. "And whether its Reapers or Cerberus or some other monster banging on the hull, we're still out here trying to stop the Collectors— which is a hell of a lot more than I can say for the Alliance or the Council. I know you, Shepard, and I trust your judgement."

"I need this ship," she insisted, aware that she didn't need to explain herself to Garrus, but frustrated that Kaidan hadn't given her the chance. "I went to the Council— that's the first place I went— and they stonewalled me. _A human problem_. Fucking hell, I pulled their asses literally out of a fire, and they give me that bullshit and boot me out to the Terminus Systems. Like I'm some bad kid they sent to her room while the adults are talking." Garrus was silent, and Shepard felt her rant gaining steam.

"What was I supposed to do? Tell my one decent shot at saving the galaxy to go fuck himself just because my morals are acting up? I can handle a little thing like hating myself everyday, and if Kaidan's got to hate me too, then so be it. If I didn't take Cerberus up on this offer, I'd have no ship, no crew, and no damn _dossiers_. What then? Collectors just get a free pass to keep snatching humans? Shit, what would have happened to Archangel if I hadn't busted in when I did? You might have died in that miserable pisshole, Garrus."

"Oh, I would've. No doubt." Shepard was jolted out of her fury by one curved talon poking her gently in the knee. "And you've got quite the filthy mouth on you, now that you're undead."

She couldn't help her sudden burst of laughter, and she slapped her hand over said filthy mouth when it turned into a ridiculous snort. It should have riled her up even more that Garrus was teasing her, but all that venting had managed to drain her anger into a fizzled kind of disquiet. She smacked his hand away, almost playfully. "Yeah, well you're an asshole, Vakarian."

"Charming. Maybe you're just spending too much time with our resident psychopath." Leaning forward, he tilted his head and met her gaze with a kind of warmth she hadn't expected. "Honestly though, if I hadn't been a little preoccupied with staying alive, I'm not sure how I would have reacted to seeing you again. You're… you're a hard person to lose, Shepard."

A bolt of incredible sadness lanced through her chest, and she glared at her thigh, willing herself to just nut up and stop almost-crying. "Getting lost wasn't fun either, but I hear what you're saying. I don't know how much this'll mean, but I am sorry."

"Hey," he cut in, and the lower note of his voice was rumbling deeper than usual. "Since you went to all the trouble of coming back? No hard feelings."

_I just wanted to make sure you were all right… None of that is your fault… I trust your judgement… No hard feelings…_

She could have understood Kaidan if he'd said anything remotely like that and still decided to stay with the Alliance— maybe as her ears on the Citadel, or maybe not. She could have understood if he'd been as hostile and judgemental as he was, but agreed to come along because it's the _mission_ that's important. He'd been with her through Eden Prime, through geth and Saren and Sovereign, through the visions and the nightmares, through Virmire, through commandeering an Alliance ship… but he wouldn't give her the benefit of the doubt when it came to Cerberus. Not even with so much at stake.

But Garrus was still here. Garrus trusted her judgement, but also questioned her. He never let her get off easy when it came to the complicated discussions, even if that meant just making some dry but insightful remark that woke her up. He never pulled punches, and he never talked around the issue, no matter how uncomfortable he was. He came to check on her, because he knew she was upset.

Her mouth quirked up in a small smile, and she stretched out her leg to poke Garrus' armoured knee with one toe. "I appreciate it, big guy. I really do."

* * *

The sight of Joker hanging out the side of the Normandy, looking all vid-hero with that assault rifle even though he couldn't hit the broad side of a dreadnought, made Shepard grin through the ache in her bones and the burn of her lungs. Almost there, with Collector fire whizzing by her ear, and of-fucking-course the platforms would get knocked down just as she cleared the ridge.

She'd just shot a Reaper-baby right in the face— what was one little jump across a yawning chasm? A final burst, every bit of energy she had left, and time slowed as her feet kicked off. The smack of her hardsuit against the hull wasn't nearly as loud as the beating of her own heart, but maybe that was because of the painful hollow feeling deep in her ears. It was almost funny, dangling like this, and just when she realised she was _really_ starting to lose it, Garrus was yanking her up and inside the ship, and the dark blue blood leaking out of the crack his armour brought her head sharply back into the game.

It wasn't until later, after one more terrifying jump when they'd hauled ass out of the shit and she'd finally gotten around to telling the Illusive Man where he could stick his human supremacy bull, that Shepard let herself ratchet down into normal gear. Everybody was alive, and damn, wasn't that just something?

It had been a long few hours, getting everybody settled, repairs started, and making sure any lingering Cerberus hardware was disconnected, but then she was finally in her cabin, picking clumsily at the buckles and clasps that held her hardsuit closed. There was a temping siren's voice in her head that had her nearly convinced to just crawl under the covers as she was and worry about her body armour after a few hours of sleep, but she'd done that before. The cramps and the sweaty feelings afterwards weren't worth it.

She'd just managed to struggle out of her gauntlets and shoulder guards, and was laying half on the bed contemplating how much energy it would take to undo her damn chest plate, when the door chimed. Groaning something at EDI that might have been a plea to just open the door, or might have been a krogan insult, Shepard didn't make a move to get up. The door hissed and whooshed, and she groaned again, slinging one arm over her eyes.

"Uh, Shepard? You okay?" Garrus. She'd made sure he'd reported to the med bay before she'd even thought of calling the Illusive Man, and had only left him there once she'd been assured and reassured by Dr. Chakwas that the round that had punctured his armour hadn't hit anything major, and that Garrus was going to be completely fine. He'd been a little high on painkillers at the time, and she remembered the heat rushing to her cheeks when he'd grabbed her hand, completely oblivious to Chakwas standing less than a metre away, and nuzzled it with the good side of his face. The nuzzling, she'd learned very recently, was about as close as turians got to kissing with each other… around the same time Garrus had learned a few new things two people could do together when at least one of them had lips.

Her thoughts were giving way to other fresh memories, mostly focused on the bed she was currently sprawled across and the turian standing just inside her door, but she was just so _tired_. "Did Chakwas clear you, or did you escape custody like a bad little merc?"

For such a formidably sized guy, Garrus was pretty light on his feet. It might have been due mostly to the ringing in her ears, but she didn't realise he'd moved until she heard his voice, significantly closer than it'd been a moment before. "Can't it be a little of both?"

Beside her, the mattress sunk and she rolled with it, peering up at Garrus as she almost curled around his hip. She might have been too tired to consider the more athletic portions of her memories, but she couldn't forget how nervous Garrus had been, even afterwards. Even if she had absolutely no steam left to blow off, she wanted to make sure Garrus knew she wasn't blowing _him_ off. In her mind, at least, that hadn't been a one-time thing.

He looked surprised that she'd move near him, but not displeased. When he twisted around a bit and carded his talons gently through her hair, she let her mouth flicker up into a smile and closed her eyes.

"You didn't answer my question," he murmured, scratching lightly across her scalp. "Are you okay?"

"That depends." Shifting a little closer, she tapped her fingers against the armour on his thigh. "You think Joker could take the long way back to the Citadel? Like, maybe nineteen or twenty hours? I think I've earned a nap."

"That's quite a nap." She heard the edginess in his voice, and forced her eyes to slide open. Carefully, she bent her head just enough to nuzzle against his palm, and was rewarded with a soft, happy rumble. "Maybe… Maybe I could…"

"You definitely deserve a nap too, Garrus," she interrupted smoothly, a little proud that her attempt at sultry tones hadn't gone all slurred. With renewed effort, she reached down and snapped her chest plate's side seals open. "If you feel like it, I mean."

It was difficult sometimes to read the physical cues of another species— at first, she'd found turians just as hard to get a bead on as any other unfamiliar alien. No eyebrows, no real lips, and their eyes always seemed so hard and predatory. Not long into her acquaintance with Garrus, however, she'd made a concerted effort to be observant. She made mental notes of what certain twitches of his mandibles meant, different ways he tilted his head, and subtle changes in the intensity of his gaze.

It hadn't occurred to her at the time, all tied up in plunging headfirst into fraternisation with Kaidan, that spending so much time and care studying a person might indicate a bit more interest than just crewmates. Much later, though still before she shuffled off, the realisation began to sink in that maybe her feelings about her very dear friend were more… serious than she'd planned.

Watching Sovereign hurtle towards them in pieces, and knowing with absolute surety that she was more concerned for Garrus than Kaidan— _that_ was the clarity that came with facing imminent death.

She'd become much more familiar with the feeling than any healthy, sane person should.

She remembered another of those moments, the clawing terror when she realised her suit was depressurising, the excruciating feeling as her capillaries burst and her tissues bloated, the last few desperate gasps for air even as her vision blurred and darkened. Clarity. She hoped they'd all be okay without her. She was so angry with herself for letting this happen, for not being quicker and better. Her chest _hurt_.

"Hey, Shepard—" Garrus was concerned; she could tell, not just by the tone of his voice, but by the width of his mandibles and the dim glitter in his eyes. She realised belatedly that she'd let her morbid musings show on her face. "Please, tell me what's wrong?"

Shaking off the worst of the suffocating feelings, she sat up enough to pull the top half of her armour free and wriggle out of her combat jacket, taking a deep, sweet breath when the air touched her skin. It was hard to be evasive or private when the memory of never being able to tell anyone anything ever again was fore in her mind.

Feeling just slightly chilled, both from the dampness of her sweaty skin and the exhaustion in her bones, Shepard leaned heavily against Garrus' side, wrapping her arm around his elbow. He was still in his own unforgiving armour, but she didn't care.

"I just remembered what it was like to die," she said quietly, and felt him tense. "I'm fine now. Just… really tired. Of everything."

"Shepard—" Garrus' voice was very, _very_ rough, and she knew he probably had something incredibly important to say, but she couldn't let that go on for one more second. Kaidan had called her Shepard the entire time, even _during_ , and it had been fine then. It fit Kaidan, and she still loved him dammit, but Garrus was different. He needed to be.

"Don't," she growled, pressing her forehead almost painfully against his shoulder. "Unless you want me to call you Vakarian _all the time._ Please, Garrus."

There was a weighty silence, but then gentle talons were lifting her head away, soothing more than the discomfort she'd just inflicted. "Adelaide."

"That's better." Hauling herself to her feet, Shepard leaned down and brushed a kiss against Garrus' mouth. "Just one minute," she murmured, slipping away from the hands that had come up to rest lightly on her hips, and staggered off towards her comm terminal.

She braced her hands on the desk, unwilling to give in to the temptation of sitting down— if she sat, she'd just need to stand again. Jabbing a little too hard at the interface, she opened a line to the bridge. "Joker?"

"Here Commander. Hey, didn't you just leave to go get some shut-eye? EDI and I can handle a jump to the Citadel, promise." Her helmsman sounded defensive, which was hardly surprising. He was still letting the IFF incident eat at him, and Shepard couldn't risk reassuring him any more without straying into coddling territory— Joker would certainly not react well to that. He just needed some time, and thankfully it seemed like they might have bought themselves a little.

"About the Citadel. Debriefing with the Council is going to be hell, and depending on how things go, we might need to burn out of there pretty quick. Let's give the crew a little while to get their heads on straight before we fly them into another shit-storm." Refusing to get distracted by the turian oh-so efficiently shedding his armour just a couple of metres away, Shepard licked her lips and kept her eyes focused firmly on the glow of the terminal.

"Uh, yeah sure. You got a time estimate for all that head-straightening?"

Grinning just slightly, Shepard reached down to start unbuckling her greaves. "At least twelve hours; more if you can swing it without just drifting for a while. And get some rest yourself, Lieutenant— EDI, make sure Joker gets a couple hours sleep."

The AI's voice sounded somewhat indulgent when she spoke through the comm. "Of course, Shepard."

With no small amount of amusement, Shepard imagined the expression that accompanied Joker's derisive snort. He mumbled his next words, and she had to strain to make them out. "Shit, it's like having two disembodied Moms." Born and raised on space-faring vessels of all kinds, Shepard could feel the very minor shift in momentum as the Normandy slowed her speed. Joker raised his voice back into professional levels. "On route to the Citadel, ETA sixteen hours thirty-eight minutes, Commander. We good?"

A quick glance upwards confirmed that Garrus was down to undershirt and shorts, and Shepard was startled by the bolt of heat that shot through her gut. "Great, Joker. Shepard out."

Kicking the last of her armour aside with far less care than it deserved, she padded back down to the waiting bed. Garrus was already flipping the covers down, and even with state-of-the-art moisture wicking fabric, her remaining combat uniform felt tacky and unpleasant. With only a little struggle lifting her arms over her head, Shepard peeled herself down to her skin, sparing Garrus a quick look as she crawled over the mattress and curled up under the cool blankets.

"Well, all right then," she heard him mumble, and a moment or two later he was sliding in against her back, all warm leathery skin and slightly rough carapace. His arm came around her with obvious care, the move reminding her of how soft and vulnerable she must seem to her bedmate, then she was being rolled back against his chest and into the hollow of his wide hips. It was difficult for a turian to lie flat on his side, but with just a little adjustment they'd found a comfortable compromise. It was embarrassing to admit, but Mordin's diagrams had helped immensely.

His hand was splayed across her stomach, and with a contented little sigh she slid her fingers down along his forearm. Then she started giggling.

"We did it," she gasped, fighting vainly against her bubbling laughter. "We really did it. We made it out alive."

She felt the rumble deep in Garrus' chest, and she shivered when he nuzzled the side of her throat. "Yeah, we did." She heard a definite smile in his voice, and had to bury her face in the pillow to try and stifle more silly giggles. "You know, you're cute when you're giddy."

Careful not to catch her skin on any of his sharper angles, Shepard made the monumental effort to turn herself over, bringing them front to front. Garrus _was_ smiling, and she felt the silliness slowly recede. They made it out alive.

Aware that even after a few months of healing, Garrus still had some occasional pain on the scarred side of his face, Shepard gently stroked the back of her hand over his cheek. "Thanks for walking into hell with me," she whispered. "And thanks for pulling me out again."

The old Shepard— Alliance commander, career solider, Spectre— would have left a lot unsaid. The mission was still important, and it was unprofessional and dangerous to muddy things up, especially with a subordinate.

But Garrus wasn't her subordinate; he was her friend and crewmate. He wasn't Alliance, and neither was she really. Neither of them was in the military anymore, and she'd effectively severed their Cerberus leash. They were on their own, and she wasn't the old Shepard anymore. Kaidan had been right— she'd changed. Death has a way of doing that, she'd discovered, even more so than near-death.

New Shepard wasn't going to put off saying something today, because there was always the chance that _this_ opportunity could be the last one. New Shepard was going to live every minute, and kick ass.

"I don't have a better friend than you, Garrus. I'm not sure one exists." Ignoring the mix of shock and pleased embarrassment that flitted across his face, Shepard stamped down her own ingrained hesitance and soldiered on. Ooh-rah. "And I love you— but it's nothing to panic about, so shut up. I'm just… not comfortable keeping stuff like that bottled up anymore."

He was blinking at her, and with his sharp, raptor-like eyes the term _owlishly_ had never seemed so apropos. Feeling the dread bubble up in her throat, Shepard was about to try and talk her way out of a stupid, _stupid_ impulse when suddenly his hand was cupping her face and his forehead was pressed gently against hers.

"Adelaide," he said quietly, and something so simple felt incredibly good to hear. She'd been Shepard for a long time, and sometimes it got a little heavy to bear. "I followed you to the ends of the galaxy, and I would again without question. Of course I love you. How could I not?"

It was true— he'd followed her so very far, and he was still by her side. Considering all that, it wasn't so terribly far for her to lean forward a few inches and claim his mouth with hers.

* * *

"—mander. Shepard, wake up. Incoming priority communication, Commander."

She was on the bad side of conscious, where too much exhaustion met just enough sleep to guarantee grogginess, but not enough to restart any sort of functionality. EDI's voice was insistent and too loud, and Shepard was a spit second away from hurling a pillow at that goddamn blue globe, when Garrus hugged her tighter to his chest.

"EDI, is this really important," he growled, sounding half-asleep himself. "Like, willing to risk _modifications_ to your blue box important?"

"I am unaware of the precise nature of the communication, Mr. Vakarian." EDI's tone had gone a little brusque, but there was a distinct tenor of apology as well. "Except that it is a priority vid-call on an encrypted Alliance channel, and the signal originates from the Serpent Nebula. For more information I would need to hack the feed, and that would likely raise Cerberus infiltration flags. I did not believe that would be diplomatic."

"Shit," she groaned, reluctantly wriggling free of the warm, muscular body that had been all but enveloping her. She had red creases on her skin from his ridges, but they were barely worse than what she used to get from the pillowcases in Basic. Garrus' skin, for being a metallic exoskeleton, was surprisingly supple. "Meant to send a message to Anderson when we got back, to tell him I'm still alive. Shit."

Her muscles felt rubbery, but she scrambled up anyway, cursing fiercely when her toe caught in the sheets and almost put her down in a pile.

"Fall and kill yourself now, and I'll make sure the monument is really stupid looking." She paused with gross, dirty undershirt in hand when she heard the tension in Garrus' voice. "Call sounds important. I should… go."

The Alliance brass dinging in her ears agreed, but too much loss and sacrifice had built up enough steel in her spine to drown that out. "No, you shouldn't." Dropping the shirt and disregarding the soft jingle of her comm terminal, Shepard crawled back across the mattress on all fours and straddled a surprised turian in one swift move. He was sitting up but still mostly covered by blankets, and with a very serious expression she placed her hands on his bare shoulders. "You should stay. I'm not ashamed of you, and anyway, I'm not even Alliance anymore. I'm not hiding you— hiding _us_ , Garrus."

Leaning in, she pressed a lingering kiss against the rough scars on his cheek and smiled as the nervousness faded from his eyes. "All right," he murmured, hands resting lightly on her hips. "You can throw on my undershirt, if you want. It's big enough to cover you." There was a strange, masculine undercurrent of _claiming_ in such an offer, and Shepard didn't mind at all. Kissing him again, this time playfully on the chin, she slid back off the bed, grabbed the crumpled black shirt he motioned to, and pulled it over her head. When the extra fabric for a collar ridge settled around her shoulders like a cowl, she couldn't help chuckling. Shepard imagined she looked as silly as a little kid playing dress-up, but Garrus was scrutinizing her intently and with definite heat.

"Down boy." Grinning, she tugged the hem down around her knees and strode up towards her comm, perhaps swaying her hips a bit more than necessary. Flopping down in the desk chair, Shepard took a moment to make sure her hurried clothing was appropriately modest and to run her hands through the rat's nest her hair had become, before tapping the interface and connecting the call.

The screen flickered, fading from bright blue to coalesce into a familiar visage. She managed to keep her shock from registering openly when a small, obviously stressed image of Kaidan peered up at her.

"Shepard—" She watched him sag with relief, even as Garrus jerked up into a rigid posture on the bed below. "God, Shepard, you made it. I didn't know— when the Normandy didn't arrive at the Citadel, I thought maybe— Oh God, you're alive!"

"Despite the Reapers' best efforts," she heard herself reply, quite neutrally. "We all made it back. Was the Alliance keeping tabs on me?"

"We have some minimal surveillance on the Omega 4 relay." Kaidan was clearly a little taken aback by her stiff manner, but he answered her questions with military efficiency even as he frowned and searched her face. "We knew you'd gone through, and we knew when the Normandy came out again. Then you disappeared in the Terminus Systems, but we assumed you'd be headed back to the Citadel."

"We're taking the long way, giving the crew a chance to recuperate before we dock. We've all just been through hell, Kaidan." Sitting back, she crossed her arms, aware she was being too defensive but unable to rein herself in. "It's not like the Alliance or the Council will give a shit what I have to say anyway. Seems they've all got selective hearing when it comes to crazy, brainwashed Shepard."

"I—" Kaidan pressed two fingers against his temple, and Shepard's gut stung with a pang of sour guilt. "I suppose I deserved that, didn't I? For what it's worth, I'm sorry."

She shook her head, both at Kaidan's apology and at Garrus, who'd started to get up when she started bitching. "No, no I'm just venting on you, and I shouldn't be." This was just one more reason she'd asked Joker to delay their arrival to the Citadel— when she was this fatigued, the valve controlling which of her thoughts were voiced and which she kept to herself went faulty.

"You look exhausted." Even as he said it, and as compassionate as it sounded, Kaidan immediately began to back-pedal. "I mean, I can't imagine how worn out you must be… Did I, did I wake you up?"

"It's all right." She didn't currently have the constitution to deal with this situation unless absolutely necessary— she definitely didn't want to draw it out. "We're on our way to the Citadel now. EDI, what's our ETA?"

She could see EDI light up behind her, reflected in the glass of her display wall. "Thirteen hours, twenty-two minutes, Commander."

"Sounds good. Kaidan, I'll have to debrief with Anderson when I arrive, but if you want to talk afterwards—" She was just scratching her itchy scalp, silently regretting the lack of self-control that had lead to her and Garrus curling up together without showering first. It only dawned on her that the collar ridge cowl was not the only tailoring difference in turian clothing when she noticed Kaidan staring at her elbow with burgeoning anger.

"Why are— What are you wearing, Shepard?" Turian under-armour, designed to fit closer to the body in places than civvies, made certain allowances for the… bumpier aspects of their physiology. Shepard hadn't realised the shirt had small holes to accommodate Garrus' elbow spines until Kaidan was gaping at them. Only then did he seem to notice the folds of fabric around her shoulders, as well. "That's turian. What— What the hell?"

Resisting the childish urge to snap back with something waspish and mostly undeserved, Shepard took a deep, calming breath. "This is not something we should discuss over the comm, Kaidan." The click of bare talons across the deck made her look up, but her attention shot back to the terminal at the sound of Kaidan smashing his fist against whatever kind of table he was leaning on.

"I really messed this up," he said quietly, and she watched as his sudden fury withdrew inwards just as quickly as it had appeared, replaced by resignation and an air of utter misery. "Is Garrus there now?" She kept her eyes firmly on Kaidan, even as Garrus' form leaned against the stair rail, just out of sight of the terminal's camera.

What was she supposed to say? Despite the faint, lingering feelings of rejection she'd been nursing since Horizon, Shepard had no desire to hurt this man. She loved him, even if they didn't fit together like she'd wanted once upon a time. A lifetime ago, literally.

"What do you want from me, Kaidan?" she whispered, and it wasn't accusatory or cruel, or anything but honest in its inquiry. It was something she needed to know.

She felt her heart start to ache as he floundered, grasping for the right words, and was about to offer some gentle reassurance when he finally spoke. "I don't know. I thought— Well, it doesn't matter now." Even through the slightly grainy signal, she could tell that his knuckles were white with the strain of clenching his hands together. "He was there for you, wasn't he? When I wasn't— when I should have—"

"Kaidan, don't." It was a little amazing that her Commander Shepard voice still snapped him to attention so quickly. "Whatever Garrus and I have, it has nothing to do with you and me. I still care for you, deeply, but I'm not the same woman I was two years ago. I'm not _that_ commander anymore, and not just because of the attack, or the rebuild. The universe changed around me while I slept, and I've fought hard to catch up."

"Yeah." Flinching like she'd slapped him, Kaidan's shoulders slumped visibly. "I think I'm starting to get that. I just… I still want to talk to you when you get here, if that's okay."

Wishing he were sitting in front of her so she could pry his poor, abused hands apart, Shepard settled for nodding and smiling softly. "Of course it's okay."

"Ah, good." The smile just seemed to make Kaidan more uncomfortable, and now he wouldn't even meet her eyes. "I'll let you get back to sleep."

She wanted to ask if he was all right, but this wasn't the time, especially not when he knew Garrus was in the room with her. "Thanks, Kaidan. I'll see you soon."

Without further acknowledgment, Kaidan cut the signal from his end. Staring at the blank terminal screen, Shepard felt numb. She didn't even glance up, but she knew Garrus was still standing there, watching. "Aren't you going to say anything?"

She heard him hum in consideration, then more clicking feet. "I'm surveying the field," he murmured, and she dropped her head into her hands when gentle talons brushed her hair back from her neck. "I'm not very good at protecting you when I don't know where the fire's coming from."

Even that small touch, his hand stroking against her skin, made everything a bit more solid again. She sighed, deep and long, then sat up and twined their fingers together. "Just watch my six, and we're good."

"Got it. And hey, the view's beautiful too."

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dante and Virgil leaving Hell and seeing the stars seemed somehow appropriate for Garrus and Shep, says the author with a small shrug.
> 
> I know a lot of authors don't explicitly name their Sheps in fic (something I often find preferable), but I felt like I needed to here. For the record, Adelaide Shepard: Spacer, War Hero, Paragon-ish. Named after the ship she was born on, which is nautical tradition (Alliance cruisers are all named after Earth cities, and darn it, I love the name).


	2. Chapter 2

Maybe it was a little paranoid, but Shepard felt her anxiety fade at least a bit as the Normandy got smaller and smaller out the shuttle's viewport. Now that she didn't have Cerberus technically behind her, she really wasn't sure she wanted to bring her fancy new ship into the Citadel itself. At least not until she'd spoken with the Council and gotten a bead on how they might react.

She'd been grounded at this damn station before, and it wasn't going to happen again.

The Kodiak made for a longer trip than usual, flying from out in the nebula and in through the Citadel's arms, but it gave Shepard some time to centre herself. She thought back to some of the meditation techniques Thane had struggled to teach a few weeks before, and tried to focus on clearing her mind. She needed to think of a single, steady flame, and feed all her negative thoughts into it. She needed to even out her breathing patterns.

She needed not to lose her load on the fucking brain-dead Council when they tossed her out on her ass again.

"Shit," she whispered harshly, and the flame flickered out. No wonder her thoughts were so dark.

"We're good," Garrus murmured, butting his shoulder against hers. "We've got this." Ignoring Zaeed's dismissive snort and Thane's small, knowing smile, Shepard grabbed Garrus's hand and held it tight, pulling their shared grip over to rest on her thigh. She kept her eyes focused firmly out the viewport, but her lips quirked a little when Garrus' squeezed her fingers through her gauntlet.

"We've got no more proof of Reapers than you did at the start of this," Zaeed growled, planting his elbows on his knees and leaning forward. "It's all bullshit. Council's got their heads up their arses, and nothing we've got's going to change that."

Garrus sighed, obviously annoyed, but didn't tense up. They all knew how true those words were. "Wow, what a ray of sunshine. Thanks for that."

She wrenched her gaze away from the void, turning her attention more fully to the matter at hand. "We did take care of the Collectors, which might warm the Council up, and it can't hurt our relations with the Alliance— _and_ I can tell them I'm not directly working for Cerberus anymore. Hell guys, I'm not going into this expecting command of a fleet and a medal; I just hope that if they won't help, they'll at least stay out of my way."

Thane blinked slowly, looking thoughtful. "Do we have a plan, once we arrive? There may be eventualities we should consider."

She couldn't help grinning a little. "My 'bad cop' worked so well last time, I might try that if they get lippy. A little less effective maybe, since they'll probably be holograms, but I can make it work."

"Of that I have no doubt," Thane agreed dryly, and she was relieved she'd managed to inject even a bit of amusement into the situation. Crap, the suicide mission felt cheerier.

* * *

They left Thane to keep an eye on the shuttle, just in case, and Shepard was pleased by the lack of armed guards waiting in the docking bay or anywhere else between Zakera Ward and the Presidium. She'd actually considered not calling ahead, but she still trusted Anderson enough to believe he'd warn her if things were going to turn ugly.

When she climbed out of the rapid transit, Shepard quickly steeled herself, shoving all the things that made her small and fragile deep inside. She was going to be professional and calm, but she wasn't going to let anyone walk all over her either.

"All right," she barked, slipping easily into _Commander Shepard_. A young human C-Sec agent at a nearby terminal actually jumped. "Let's get this done."

Anderson was waiting for her, hunched behind his desk with a stack of datapads as tall as a volus sitting at his elbow. If she wasn't completely certain he was the best man for this job, especially since in his shoes she doubted anyone else would have given her the time of day, Shepard would have regretted helping put that frazzled, wrecked look on his face. He looked up at the sound of the door, then stood with a wan smile when he saw it was her.

"Shepard—" He came around the desk, holding out one broad hand for her to take. She accepted the gesture, shaking his hand firmly, then nodded graciously when he clapped her on the arm and motioned for her to come in. "I'm glad you're here a bit early. The Council's… eager to hear what you've got to say, but I'd appreciate a heads-up before the meeting starts."

She leaned back against the wall of the balcony, crossing her arms as Garrus and Zaeed lurked quietly near the door. If Anderson noticed the generous firepower she'd brought along, he didn't mention it. "The Reapers were behind the abductions, like I said. I managed to loot one of their IFFs from a derelict Reaper out in the Thorne system, and used it to get through the Omega 4 relay— and before you ask, the Reaper corpse was destroyed in the process. Then we infiltrated the Collector's home base and blew the thing to hell, _much_ to Cerberus' chagrin." Anderson was watching her carefully, and she could tell he was a little pleased at that news. Well, he wouldn't like the rest of what she had to say. "And now I know why the colonists were abducted."

The man was silent for a moment, searching her eyes, but then he sighed heavily. "I'm not going to like this."

"No, you're not. I certainly don't." Unwilling to dance around an issue this important, Shepard glanced out over the stunning beauty of the Presidium, pushing the most grotesque details of her memories aside. "They were liquefying them, breaking them down into some kind of raw genetic paste. Tens of thousands of people, all processed into building materials. It's how the Reapers reproduce, building their offspring out of organics, and it's why they _harvest_."

She didn't want to look at Anderson, on the off chance he was finally convinced she'd cracked, but she didn't need to. His choked exclaimation was enough. "They're— Jesus _Christ_ —"

"But I've got no proof," she continued evenly, trying to get the image of that dying woman out of her mind— the muffled sound of screaming, and the _smell_. "Except some scans of the Collectors that prove they used to be Protheans, before the Reapers frankensteined them into slaves, an IFF that'll get you to the Galactic Core, and a bunch of testimony from a shit-scared crew."

"That's… a lot to take in, Shepard." Anderson sounded dazed, and when she finally looked back at him, he was sickly pale. Impulsively, she put her hand over the white-knuckled grip he had on the balcony's edge, and after a heartbeat or two, she watched his mouth twist up into a small, sad shadow of a smile. "The Council won't help, but at least we can try to keep them off your back again. I don't suppose—"

The door hissed open, and both Garrus and Zaeed shifted their still-holstered weapons, noticeably enough that Udina looked about ready to piss himself. "Shepard," he drawled, keeping a wary eye on the mercs as he restarted his frozen legs and strode inside. Nasty scars and big guns were a classic combo, and Shepard almost found herself missing the thick white line that used to slice across her nose and cheek— a mark she'd borne proudly from Elysium all the way 'til she'd woken up on that damn slab with all kinds of new and interesting scars. Now, the remaining ones just weren't visible.

"Udina," she replied sharply, not moving from her rather casual posture except to re-cross her arms. Professional and calm. Professional and calm.

"Rumour has it you trounced the Collectors." Udina's tone was a little too smarmy, his expression a little too close to a sneer, and Shepard bit the inside of her cheek. "How fortunate for the Terminus colonies, if it's true."

"We could take a fieldtrip to the Galactic Core, if you're looking for confirmation. I'm sure there's a few itty-bitty pieces left— hey, maybe you'll get a souvenir." _Professional_ and _calm_. Udina bristled, but didn't respond, and Shepard was incredibly relieved. Slapping the louse around a little might be a satisfying dream, but she didn't need more enemies.

Anderson cleared his throat, effectively breaking the tension into something less focused— more of a vague cloud of antagonism. "The Council is due to convene very shortly, people. Shepard, just keep things as clear-cut as possible, don't mention the Reapers unless they bring it up, and let me deal with the fallout, all right?"

"Yes, sir." Rolling her shoulder out of habit, Shepard winced at the ghost of pain still lingering in her joints. Once more into the breach— no, _unto_. Unto the breach? Ah, maybe later she'd check with Thane.

She might have said something more, perhaps asked Anderson to finish the thought he'd started voicing before they were interrupted, but then the comm on his desk chimed sharply. Udina reached out and tapped the terminal screen, earning him a dark look from Anderson, but then the Council was materializing and they all smartened up. Shepard clasped her hands behind her back, letting Anderson take point on this one.

"Good afternoon, Councillors." Anderson tilted his head in greeting, and the three holograms retuned the gesture. Councillor T'Joam was the first to speak, and Shepard was surprised that the asari actually sounded relieved.

"Shepard. After the reports we've been receiving, it is good to see you alive."

Shepard stepped forward, still just behind Anderson's shoulder. "Thank you, Councillor. It was… a close thing."

"Are we to understand correctly that you've severed your relationship with Cerberus?" After so long with Mordin, hearing Councilor Velarn speak was almost painfully slow. Still, Shepard wasn't sure she'd ever met another salarian who spoke quite as quickly as the good doctor.

This was the tricky part— or _one_ of the tricky parts, more accurately. She didn't want to hesitate, because wouldn't that just inspire confidence, but she had a feeling the complete truth wouldn't be exactly helpful either. The Reapers were coming, and while Shepard might not be working _for_ Cerberus anymore, it was more than likely that she'd work with them again. Some threats were worth bending one's morals to defeat, and the price of galactic survival was sometimes a woman's soul.

"If I may speak freely, Councillors, the Illusive Man wanted the Collector base salvaged intact, and I blew it to nothing but scrap regardless. If that wasn't a massive poke in the eye, I'm not sure how my resignation from his employ could have been clearer."

The salarian nodded, blinking his dark eyes. "That is reassuring to hear."

"Is it?" Ah, Councillor Pain-in-the-Ass Parscellus. It was strangely gratifying that Shepard could now imagine what the churlish turian might look like naked… and _inadequate_. "I'm not sure how reassured _I_ am by your shifting loyalties, Shepard."

She raised her chin and widened her mouth just slightly, betting that no one but Parscellus (and maybe Garrus, but he was behind her) would register the deliberate challenge. The subtleties of turian body language had become sort of a hobby of hers, recently. "Is it some new practice for the Council to question _how_ a Spectre gets the job done, Councillor? It was my understanding you preferred to remain ignorant of all those messy details— or did the meaning of 'by any means necessary' change while I was _clinically dead?_ "

"Shepard," Udina growled warningly, but Anderson spoke up before things could deteriorate.

"As a member of this Council, I will personally vouch for Shepard's loyalty and I shouldn't have to remind you all of her consistently distinguished service." It wouldn't have been quite as subtle as her previous move to mouth _suck it, asshole_ at Parscellus, so she refrained. Professional and calm… she might have skirted that a bit, but she was still on course.

"Your support is noted, Councillor Anderson." T'Joam held out her hands calmingly. "If not especially surprising. But the purpose of this meeting is not to endlessly argue the allegiance of a woman _we_ reinstated to Spectre status. Shepard, we are all interested to hear any information you've learned about the Collectors."

This time, Anderson moved aside, and Shepard took a deep breath.

* * *

It had been a miserable circle jerk of a debriefing, but at least Shepard wasn't in custody or anything so terribly dramatic. She'd actually managed to convince the Council that the Collector threat wasn't entirely eradicated, which seemed her best bet to secure at least some resources and autonomy— maybe they were just happy to shut her up, and thought chasing Collectors all over the galaxy would keep her busy. The details hardly mattered if the outcome wasn't half-bad, and it was actually better than she'd expected.

Now she had that other thing. That thing she wasn't looking forward to either. That thing she hoped wouldn't leave her a sobbing wreck, but she wasn't taking bets.

Standing by the large, clear lake, Shepard brought up her omni-tool interface and punched in a few commands. She should send Kaidan a message, though Anderson was probably already on the comm with him. She definitely couldn't sneak away.

Not that she would, because that would be petty and selfish, and Kaidan deserved better. She was just freaking out.

"Come on," she said suddenly, typing only a few short words before shutting down the interface. "I want to drop my hardsuit off at the shuttle, and tell Thane he can go find Kolyat."

When she raised her head, Garrus was giving her a _look_. It was gone in an instant, but it clearly wasn't pleasant or expected. She'd just sent the note to Kaidan, asking him to meet her at a café in the Wards in about an hour, and _now_ Garrus was going to start giving her _looks_?

Unwilling to turn a look into a scene, especially in the middle of the Presidium and _especially_ in front of Zaeed, Shepard stalked off towards the nearest transit station with a scowl. Maybe it was her deadly expression, or the arsenal strapped to her back, but people actually scampered out of her way.

It took approximately thirty minutes to get from the Presidium to the docking bay by transit shuttle, and Shepard anticipated a long, uncomfortable ride. She was incredibly pissed— and wasn't this a great day to have their first fight?

People said she was lucky; after all, she'd survived the Blitz, Eden Prime, the Battle for the Citadel, and all those other brutal fire fights they didn't tell stories about, and now she'd even come back from a kamikaze run into the Galactic Core. But was it _really_ luck when she kept finding herself in situations with a significant chance of dying or getting otherwise horribly maimed? Was it really lucky that barely a month after she and Kaidan had admitted what they had was more than just flirting, she got spaced? And now, not even forty-eight hours since she'd found Garrus standing awkwardly in her cabin, wine in hand, she was back in the shit.

She was about to grab one of the shuttles scheduled for departure to the Wards when talons on her arm held her back. Garrus shot her an earnest look, then turned to Zaeed.

"Go on ahead; I need to speak with Shepard."

The grizzled old merc grinned, and it wasn't an especially attractive expression, but it was amused. "Sure, Vakarian— whatever keeps your balls attached, right? Ah, good luck."

She wanted to argue, but she wanted to know what the hell was going on even more. Allowing herself to be lead away from the transport hub and back towards the serenity of the lake, Shepard yanked her arm out of his grip. They weren't exactly alone, but she could keep things quiet.

"You know, Garrus," she started conversationally, with just a hint of steel beneath. "Meeting Kaidan is going to be really hard for me, and if you've got a problem I need to hear it now."

Stepping closer, Garrus kept his own voice to a low rumble. "Will you let me explain before you tear my spine out, please?"

It was a plea designed to stop her anger short, and damn him, it worked. She just wanted to smack him, but settled for bumping her fist against his chest plate. "You don't even try to fight fair, do you? I will _always_ let you explain, Garrus."

Even though he'd managed to dodge the initial shot, Garrus still fidgeted like he was waiting for a second volley. "It's just— I didn't mean to get upset. I want you to talk with Kaidan, really. This is going to sound way too sappy, but whatever happens between us, I don't want you to miss an opportunity to work through… things, with him." Tapping his foot anxiously, he wouldn't meet her eyes. "It's a turian thing. When you said you were going to drop off your hardsuit— it's, well, sort of a big deal, if you've got a life where you wear armour a lot, to remove it for a specific person. It's a custom, and I got caught up for a second, and I'm sorry. I just want you to be comfortable, and I really mean that. It was a momentary lapse."

She narrowed her eyes, searching his face for any sign there might be more to this. _Turian custom_ could just as easily be turian cop-out— but no, he really did look genuine. And genuinely uncomfortable.

Being late to meet Kaidan wasn't something she wanted to do, but her gut was telling her to push this a little more. This time, she grabbed Garrus' arm, turning him to face her full on. "So this armour custom—" She tapped her fingers audibly against the ceramic plating on his shoulder. "Is it a sex thing? It sounds like a sex thing."

Garrus literally squirmed. "Uh, sort of?"

That was probably the wrong answer if he wanted her to just shut up. "Sort of? Because you were wearing civvies when you showed up for that first… visit."

"Dammit Shepard," he growled, and his mandibles were tight to his face, twitching slightly. "You're not— It's not— It's more about _intimacy_."

She didn't really know if turians could blush, but Garrus' cheeks might have gone a little dark under his colony markings. Maybe she was imagining it, but hell, _humans_ certainly could blush, and Shepard felt her own face get a little warm. Damn bashful, adorable turian.

"That's sweet," she said softly, wishing they were on any other station so she could pull his head down for a quick nuzzle. "And maybe I'm just a little too raw right now, and freaked out when I shouldn't have. I still don't want to go for coffee in full kit, though."

"I know, and it's really fine. Like I said, momentary lapse." He shrugged, still embarrassed, then jerked his chin in the direction of the transit hub. "Come on."

* * *

Thane was lingering at the Kodiak, obviously waiting for them to arrive, and the mild rigidity in his slim form screamed impatience— as impatient as Thane got, anyway.

She waved her hand, frowning contritely. "I'm sorry, Thane. Go find Kolyat; tell him I said hello."

Rising from his recline against the shuttle's hull, Thane inclined his head. "Thank you, Shepard, I will. Matthews and DeYoung are still in the cockpit, tuning the momentum stabilizers, and Zaeed has already gone to find 'the darkest, shittiest bar in this place.'"

That was hardly surprising, and now that Zaeed wasn't technically working for her anymore, she couldn't chew him out for being an inconsiderate ass— not that she'd been able to rein him in much when he actually _was_ under contract, anyway. She was actually shocked he hadn't cleared out already, but he hadn't even mentioned leaving the Normandy. Shepard wasn't sure if that meant anything, but she was content to wait and see.

Thane quickly took his leave of them, and despite the detour for drama, a glance at her omni-tool assured Shepard she still had some time before her hour was up. She'd also received a response from Kaidan, just as short as the invitation she'd sent.

 _All right, sounds good. See you then. Kaidan._

Climbing inside the shuttle, Shepard started shucking her hardsuit before she could reconsider this whole thing. Garrus was too silent, and after making sure the hatch to the cockpit was closed, she grabbed his hand and tugged it around her own waist.

"Would it help," she asked mischievously, shivering when she felt talons slide up her spine. "If I was getting down to boots and utes for you? Because I don't see anybody else here."

He didn't answer, except to bend down and touch his forehead to hers, but at least he was smiling now.

* * *

It was strange walking through the Citadel without her armour, maybe stranger since she was in her utilities— or what passed for utes in her Cerberus supplied wardrobe. One of the first things on her short-term agenda was going to be stripping a few of those emblems off her ship and her uniforms. At least the logos she currently sported were subtle, charcoal on black, and she'd even remembered to stash a pair of boots in the shuttle before they'd disembarked from the Normandy. Otherwise she'd still be stomping around in greaves.

A couple of months into the mission, after the first visit to Illium and the mess with Miranda's sister, her self-proclaimed XO had stopped her just outside the elevator on Crew Deck and with an uncomfortable little smile, had given her back her old dog tags. It had been strange, seeing the familiar bits of steel again, and her voice had been thick when she thanked Miranda for their return.

Now they lay comfortably under her combat jacket, like they'd never been anywhere else, and it didn't matter that the body under them wasn't completely human anymore. It didn't matter that the tags on everything else from her ship to her skivvies said Cerberus, or that they could have just as easily stamped her ass with _Property Of_ — she knew her own heart. She was a navy-brat to the bone, and she'd always feel like an Alliance Marine, even if she couldn't let herself be tied down by them again.

She wasn't late, but Kaidan was already sitting at a table when she got to the café— first thing she noticed was that he wasn't in armour either, hunched over in standard Service C uniform with one more stripe on his shoulder than she remembered. He didn't see her at first, too busy scanning the crowd in the opposite direction, but then he shifted his attention her way and she waved.

He got to his feet when she approached, and there was a long frozen moment where neither of them knew exactly what to do, standing across from each other like idiots. Finally she lifted her arms, holding her breath so as not to sigh in frustration. Their brief embrace on Horizon had felt strange, almost isolating, but this was different. Kaidan was warm (not strangely, soothingly hot), and firm (not hard and bumpy), and she fit against his chest without any struggle. He smelled the same as he had before, and she was self-consciously aware that she didn't— there was a faintly metallic scent that had clung to her since she'd been revived, and it had simply amplified since she'd gotten Dr. Chakwas to install her heavy skin weave.

Kaidan stepped back first, clearing his throat and glancing at the pistol at her hip before shifting his eyes to rest on the table. "Hi," he said quietly. "Will you sit?"

"Yeah." Lowering herself into one of the comfortable, cushioned chairs, Shepard noticed Kaidan appeared completely unarmed. She wondered vaguely if she'd ever feel that comfortable again, anywhere but onboard her ship. Kaidan resumed his own seat, but before they could do more than fidget, an asari waitress strolled over with order pad in hand and a welcoming expression.

"Hi, I'm Meora, and I'll be your waitress today. Can I get you two anything, or do you need some time?"

Shepard lifted her mouth into a half-smile, rubbing her neck absently. "Have you got any salarian tea? Maybe _plujon_ flavoured?"

The asari tapped out a few commands on her pad. "Of course. Sweetened or unsweetened?"

"Sweetened, no milk. Thanks, Meora."

Kaidan wasn't quite frowning— but it was a close thing— when the waitress turned to him expectantly. "Just coffee for me, light on the cream and sugar. Thanks."

Meora nodded cheerfully, tapping her pad again. "I'll be back with your drinks in just a few minutes!" When she bounced off to take another order before heading behind the counter, Shepard was reminded rather pleasantly that not all asari maidens were commandos or strippers, at least not for the entirety of their youths.

The drum of Kaidan's fingers on the tabletop brought her back to attention, and she purposefully relaxed her posture into something less apprehensive, leaning forward a bit.

"It's— It's good to see you, Shepard." He was suddenly really looking at her, meeting her eyes, and there was an intensity in his dark gaze that made her breathing hitch. "I nearly lost my mind when the report came in that you'd gone through the Omega 4 relay. I can't believe you made it back."

She chuckled just a little, refusing to dwell on the nightmare they'd found on the other side of that damn jump. "A friend of mine told me a while back that I've 'built a career on performing the impossible.' I'm not sure I want to try something like that again anytime soon, but I think maybe the universe just isn't finished with me yet." Her tone was a bit more self-assured than she'd planned, but she was compensating for the anxiety gnawing away at her gut. Propping her elbow on the table's edge, she rested her chin on her palm. "I'm beat up, but I'm healing, and I'm still a Spectre. It's not perfect, but when is it ever?"

"Not often," Kaidan agreed, taking a long, slow breath. "I don't know how to talk to you anymore. I thought I had a thousand things to say, but now that you're sitting there, I feel like the deck's dropped out from under me. I'm… I'm sorry, and I know I've said that before, but I really am—" The more he spoke, the more his hands fluttered and gestured, and Shepard was getting dizzy. Reaching out, she touched his fingers gently, bringing their hands down onto the table together.

"It's all right," she murmured, and held his surprised gaze even when his hands turned, returning her grip a little desperately. "I'm sorry too. I didn't want to leave you— all of you behind. I never wanted to hurt you like that."

They stayed there, silent and holding hands across the table, until Meora came back with their orders. Shepard carefully extracted her fingers, touching the lip of her teacup with suddenly renewed awkwardness. It had been very… comfortable to sit with Kaidan, as long as they weren't speaking to each other, and it almost made her feel guilty.

Whether it was guilt for enjoying holding hands with another man while Garrus waited patiently for her in the shuttle, or guilt that she was allowing herself to stray towards _leading-him-on_ territory with Kaidan… she really wasn't sure. She stared into the clear, maroon depths of her drink, letting the fruity, almost citrus scent calm her racing mind.

"Salarian tea?" Kaidan was stirring his coffee, and for a brief, horrifying second all she could think of was the taste of it on his tongue. "That's new."

"Got a new stomach— figured I'd put it through its paces." Squeezing her eyes shut and pressing the heel of her hand hard against her forehead, Shepard cursed. "Ah _shit_ , I'm sorry. That was… not what I wanted to say." When Kaidan didn't reply at all, she stayed as she was, not opening her eyes. "I've been working with a salarian doctor, and he introduced me to it. It's a little like herbal tea, but with a lot more kick, and there's no caffeine crash. Something about the way salarians metabolise stimulants."

"Ah." Slitting one eye open, Shepard noticed that Kaidan's face had gone sickly pale. She almost cursed again, but then he started to speak in a clipped, shaky tone. "So, a lot of what… happened to you has been kept pretty low-key. The Alliance hasn't been able to find out any details at all, which isn't exactly unusual for a Cerberus operation." The last two words were almost a growl, and Shepard sat up like an adult again, determined to steer the conversation away from shadowy, despicable organisations as much as possible. This was supposed to be a personal reunion, not another debrief.

"I'll tell you anything I can about what they did to me, if that's what you're asking." She took a sip of her tea, waiting for Kaidan to answer. He looked almost torn, with equal parts fascination, disgust, and fear flickering through his expression. Even after all this time, she could still read him.

Eventually he nodded, gripping his mug tightly. "You told me you were clinically dead. Scuttlebutt has you in hiding for two years, in a coma at some secret facility, or actually dead and the Shepard that came back is just some advanced android— plus a few more even crazier ideas. I'd like to know the truth."

"The truth is I got spaced." Here, for Kaidan, she'd revisit these memories. Never again. "I got Joker into a pod, but the Collectors came around again, cutting through what was left of the hull. A blast knocked me back, too far, and then there was a particle beam between me and the hatch. I knew I wasn't getting out that way, so I blew the pod, but my magnetics weren't grounded. Another explosion, and I was free-floating away from the wreckage, but my suit was breached and the emergency seals didn't activate. It depressurized, and I died." She knew she sounded clinical and hard, but she couldn't linger there any longer in the endless dark and cold of the void. It made her lungs burn. "Cerberus got hold of my body, afterwards— I don't know exactly how. They devoted nearly all of their resources to try and resurrect me, and it worked."

He was staring at her, lips just slightly parted, so she soldiered on. "As I understand it, which admittedly might not be very well, they paid off some of the best scientists in the galaxy, fixed what they could and replaced what they couldn't." She couldn't help pinching the flesh of her forearm, just slightly. "I'm mostly still me, but with some extra pieces holding it all together."

"How—" Kaidan coughed sharply, but not before she heard his voice crack. "How long were you… dead?" She'd asked Miranda that once, and she was pretty sure Kaidan wasn't going to like the answer.

"A little over seven months. That was when they were able to restart the electrical impulses in my brain." His stricken expression was so heartbreaking it made her flinch.

"I am so sorry," he whispered thickly. "I shouldn't have left—"

"It wasn't your fault." If they hadn't been in a quiet, polite little café, she would have slammed her hand on the table. Instead, she let the tone of her voice carry her frustration. "I am so goddamn tired of people blaming themselves for things they couldn't control. You don't think I've considered what I could have done differently? That I didn't almost drown in thoughts of what might've happened if I'd let you come with me, if I'd been a second faster getting to the bridge, hell, if I'd left Joker behind? I'm alive _now_ , and that's all I care about. It's all I can _afford_ to think about." Snapping her mouth closed so fast her teeth clicked, Shepard sucked in a deep, steadying breath through her nose. Kaidan simply hung his head.

"I— Yeah, all right Shepard."

* * *

They'd stayed at the café for two hours, which was long enough to vent a few more times, to see Kaidan actually get visibly furious, to hold hands again, for Shepard to cry exactly once, and for Kaidan to tell a joke so horrible she choked on the last dregs of her second cup of tea. Then he'd walked her to the transit hub, chatting warmly with only a slight undertone of sadness.

"So," he began, just as they came up on the shuttles. The next scheduled departure for the docking bay was in less than five minutes. "Anderson wants to know if you're still considering yourself Alliance." Shepard responded to the forced offhandedness of the question by crossing her arms loosely, her brow furrowing.

"There's no such thing as an ex-marine, Kaidan. You know that." Shaking her head, she glanced out at the busy shuttle routes. "But the Alliance refuses to acknowledge the Reaper threat, and I won't be leashed and I _won't_ be handled. It's just too dangerous."

"I understand." When his fingers slid over her shoulder, she swallowed hard. "Just… please be careful, Shepard."

 _It's been a long time since I've met a woman who—_

Tilting her head, Shepard pressed her cheek against the back of his hand for a brief moment, releasing all of her regret into that one small gesture. Then she smiled. "You've always got a place on my crew, no matter what. Remember that, all right?"

"I'll remember." There was something strange in his voice, enough that it startled her. "Maybe— maybe I'll even consider it." Then the shuttle she needed was arriving, and the touch on her shoulder became a hand brushing her hair gently away from her face. Kaidan smelled like coffee, the spice of his usual aftershave, and just a hint of ozone. She let him press a soft kiss against her forehead, and managed not to shudder.

"I'll talk to you soon, Kaidan."

"Yeah." He didn't try to stop her when she stepped away. "Take care, Shepard."

* * *

Despite her best efforts at mangling the controls with hands that just wouldn't stop shaking, Shepard made it back to the docking bay without serious injury to herself or the transit shuttle. She'd told Zaeed and Thane what time she expected they'd be shoving off, and she was actually a little early. With any luck, neither of them would be particularly punctual, and she could enjoy a few moments of reorienting herself in the present. With Garrus.

When she found him, he was sitting lotus-style on the deck of the Kodiak, reassembling the pieces of assault rifle lying neatly by his side. He looked up expectantly when the hatch opened, but his hands kept sliding and clicking metal together effortlessly.

"Hey," he said, locking the gun's muzzle back in place. She waved the greeting off, clomping over and sliding down the bulkhead to sit next to him, carefully avoiding the detached heatsink chamber now beside her boot. Leaning heavily against his shoulder earned her a concerned glance, but she was allowed to stay blissfully silent until Garrus finished his task.

When he set the perfectly reassembled rifle aside a moment later, probably having tweaked the accuracy like he'd been talking about trying, she slipped her arm around his waist. "It went better than I'd expected, but I really just want to get my sorry ass back home."

She needed to feel him, to remind herself of his heat and texture, and with great tenderness she reached up and grazed her fingers along the unmarred side of his chin, then around to the softer, leathery skin at the back of his neck. Garrus twisted into the touch, making a quiet trilling noise when she massaged just below his fringe. She knew from some of the literature Mordin had provided that if she kept it up, her dear turian would be a puddle of boneless goo within a few minutes, but his reactions were just so sweet and so very, very sexy.

His leg had started kicking spasmodically, and she could just see the tip of his tongue peeking out, when the hatch hissed open and Thane slipped inside smoothly. He of course had the good taste not to mention the rather compromising position the pair of them were scrambling out of, though Shepard didn't miss the amused little curve of his lips as he took a seat near the viewport.

Garrus hauled himself to his feet, reaching down to pull her up as well, and they got settled in there own respectable, professional seats just in time— Zaeed ambled in a few moments later, not obviously drunk, but at least a little unwound. Maybe he'd found an audience willing to be thrilled by his stories, or maybe he'd found a willing woman. Neither possibility presented a problem, really.

The pilots knew the itinerary, so when Shepard reached around and banged the door to the cockpit twice in rapid succession, she wasn't surprised to feel the shuttles thrusters engage shortly thereafter, just as the docking clamps released with a minor jolt.

It wouldn't be terribly long before she was back on her ship, and then the real work would have to begin in earnest. It was a horrifying thought, but what they'd come up against so far had likely been little more than a practice run for what was lurking over the next hill.

Still, they'd killed her once, and she was still kicking around. They came damn close to killing her again, and she gave them a hell of a black eye for their trouble. Whatever they threw at her next, she'd face it head on, eyes wide open. She refused to let everything fall apart, especially after all the shit she'd been through to keep it together.

The Reapers could go fuck themselves— _Zombie Shepard is coming, and she's coming pissed off._

Garrus didn't ask for an explanation why she started laughing like a fool, but when it became clear she wasn't about to stop anytime soon, he did shake his head indulgently and hug her close for the rest of the flight.

* * *


	3. Stelle Chapter 3

The viewport was wide open, as usual, bathing the room with dim light. The only other light in the room was the faintest blue glow, surrounding Samara like a second skin— a lone sign of the asari's carefully contained turmoil.

"I have had a goal, a target, for a very long time, Shepard." The Commander waited, leaning against the edge of the viewport. She had never heard such uncertainty in the justicar's tone, and it was more than a little humbling that such a powerful, aloof kind of being would allow her to see this hint of weakness. "Now… I am unsure."

Staring out into the void, her back straight and arms hanging loosely, Samara maintained a dignity and remoteness that Shepard envied a little. Sure, she was getting better at the politics, but she was still too hot-headed to ever be completely inscrutable.

Eventually the silence grew too heavy, and Shepard sucked in a short breath through her nose. "I have no idea where to go from here, Samara. Sovereign nearly crippled the Citadel Fleet, decimated the Fifth— there could be hundreds of thousands of Reapers lurking out there." She shook her head sharply, refusing to dwell on the impossible odds any more than necessary. Impossible odds were her speciality, even if they did seem particularly bad this time. "I'm unsure too, but the one thing I absolutely refuse to do is stop moving forward, even if I'm flying blind. Sitting on my butt never held a lot of appeal."

"Nor to me," Samara said softly, and Shepard was relieved to see the corner of her lips twitch upwards. "The scale of the Reaper threat is barely comprehensible, but it is not the only evil in the universe. I will go, but I will return soon."

Selfishly, that wasn't the answer Shepard had hoped her friend would come to, but it wasn't surprising. "All right. Where?"

The radiance of the biotic field had faded; the room was very dark, but the stars still reflected from Samara's eyes when she turned her head. "I will disembark here, but I believe I will travel to Omega. I will restore some balance."

* * *

"So," she said carefully, keeping her voice as normal as possible. Now, after so much effort spent cracking Jack's imposing shell of bullshit and grief, would not be the right time to screw it all up. She was poised as close to the stairs as possible, just at the arch structure that opened into the space of Jack's room, and she was ready to retreat out of the hidey-hole if the still unpredictable biotic went crazy-nuts. "Packing?"

It was a stupid question, what with the canvas duffle bag clearly slumped on the small cot, stuffed full of way more guns than clothes, and Jack's derisive tone of voice when she responded did not disappoint.

"Congrats, Shep. You still got your eyes." There were a long few minutes of silence, broken only by the hum of the engine core and the small sounds of frustration escaping Jack's lips as she searched almost violently for something to occupy her hands— any excuse not to look at Shepard. Eventually, with one final grunt of annoyance, Jack kicked the side of the cot hard enough to dent the frame.

"Listen," she growled, and Shepard wasn't about to do anything less. Regardless of how she ran her mouth, Jack deserved to have more people listen to her. "It's nothing personal, all right? I mean, you are a goddamn pussy way too often, but I don't hate you. I just don't— ah, _fuck_ —"

It was like watching an animal in a zoo, pacing and snarling, and Shepard didn't feel guilty for thinking so. Jack was a bit more feral than most people— even after months in the Terminus Systems, even after Aeia, Shepard knew that to be true.

"I can't convince you to stay," she murmured, and it wasn't a question. Jack was already gone, at least for a while. They were lingering near the Citadel for a few days, cautiously picking up some emergency parts for the drive core and planning to be gone before the vultures noticed them limping, and it really was the perfect opportunity to disembark. Like everything else, Jack would prefer her exit to be quick and brutal.

Finally, there was some eye contact, and a flash of teeth that was almost a grin. "Shit no. I'd be tearing up the bulkheads in a week. Space all you motherfuckers."

It was not a good thing to mention, even to joke about. Jack knew that, and Shepard forced herself to forgive the woman. Taking a small step forward, deeper into the pit, the Commander crossed her ankles loose and casual as she cocked one hip back against the wall.

It hardly mattered anyway; even if Shepard had wanted to call her on her poor choice of words, Jack wasn't finished. "I mean, it's been a treat and all, getting shot at by every asshole in the galaxy who thinks he can hold a piece, but I don't play well with others." There was another pause, shorter this time, and nothing got kicked. Shepard felt the weight of Jack's attention settle on her.

Shuffling her bag around, guns clinking together, Jack took a deep breath. "Just… you've done a lot for me, and I appreciate that. Maybe if I get tired of dicking around on my own, I'll be back. Maybe not. Who the hell knows."

"You've always got a place on my ship, you know. I mean that."

Rolling her eyes in a way that, had she been anyone else, would have made her look ridiculously young, Jack zipped up the duffle. "Save it. I know."

Shepard had one more shot, waiting patiently in the barrel. Just as Jack slung the bag over her shoulder, grim determination hanging heavy around her, Shepard fired. "Thanks for your help, Jack. I wouldn't have wanted to do this without you, and I was glad to have you at my back."

False sentiments would have sent her into a rage— the simple truth stopped her cold. Shepard could see how tightly her thin, pale fingers were biting into the duffel's wide, webbed strap.

She would leave, but she would be back. With a snort, Jack clomped across the deck towards the stairs. "Yeah, well, they don't make leathernecks for their fucking brains, do they?"

Shepard smiled, broad and true, and leaned against the bulkhead. "Nope. We're more of a point and shoot design."

"Whatever. Try not to bury yourself in the shit again." Loud boots, clanging as if Jack weighed five times as much as her small frame, disappeared upwards. "Later, Shepard."

* * *

"Tuchanka's the next stop after we blow out of here. I've already sent the message to let Wrex know you're coming."

Grunt growled low, almost too deep for her ears to register, and flexed his thick fingers. "Good."

And that was all the talk they'd have about that. Shepard had very little interest in discussing exactly how many females had shown an interest in breeding with the genetically perfect clone, slayer of thresher maws and baby-Reapers.

Grunt was… too distracted to notice.

Later, after he'd settled in with his people, Grunt had already made it clear that he would be returning to the Normandy. The enemy still lived, after all.

* * *

She had been working her way downwards, through the decks, and now Zaeed was the last crewmember she had to check up on. There had been no surprises with the others— a handful of crew beginning their exodus, back to families, or safety, or whatever drew them away. About a third of her regular crew, and she hardly blamed them. Of her elite squad? Only Jack and Grunt, and Samara.

Tali would stay on board, unless the Fleet called her back for something truly vital. She'd had her fill of dirty politics for the time being. Miranda and Jacob were staying to fight the good fight, and to stay near each other (though neither would admit it). Mordin had found his final hurrah, the occupation of his twilight years, working in their state-of-the-art lab (and he had, among other things, both the genophage and Kepral's Syndrome to keep him busy). Thane had found some small sliver of hope in the success of their suicide mission, and was allowing Mordin to examine him. Perhaps it was the weekly messages from Kolyat that kept him from disappearing off to die. Legion would remain as some kind of liaison to organics, at least for a while. The geth had an interest in destroying the Reapers, the false gods, and Legion seemed to have some strange fascination with Shepard specifically. Garrus… well.

Zaeed was the last, and Shepard was honestly shocked she still had to drag her ass down to cargo. She'd fully expected the merc, along with the faint stink of cigar that permeated the lower decks of her ship, would have already been long gone. She'd avoided asking about Zaeed's continuing presence for many reasons, not the least of which being that no matter his occasional attitude, the man was a great shot and tough as all hell. Very, very useful to have on your side, so long as you could trust him there.

And Shepard, damn her stupid gut instincts, trusted the old bastard.

She hit the chime before entering, because hell if she'd risk walking in on the man… _polishing his rifle_ again. Garrus had nearly pissed himself laughing when she'd told him how it'd happened the first time, but the turian had certainly clamed up quick when she'd made passing reference to Zaeed having a very decent body for a man of his age and experience.

Now she always used the chime, and this time she got a distracted "Yeah, come in," for her trouble. The door whooshed open, she stepped inside, and he actually _was_ polishing his rifle. Pieces of Vindicator were scattered across the table where Jessie normally lay, and Shepard was treated to the rare sight of Zaeed in what passed for his civvies— faded green fatigue bottoms, and a dark grey undershirt. The merc barely glanced up from his work, and Shepard suppressed a wince when she saw the thin cigar hanging out of the corner of his mouth, but the thing wasn't lit. Hell. At least he had the sense not to set himself on fire, with the solvent fumes in the air and the oil on his fingers.

"Commander," he rumbled in greeting, wiping down the side of the rifle barrel with a cloth. There was no evidence of any sort of travel preparations— the room still looked like a battle museum, and Zaeed had even installed a bracket to hold Jessie on the wall. It looked a bit like he was settling in for a long haul.

"I noticed you're not packing your things," she said, subtlety be damned. Her bluntness earned an amused chuckle, rattling from his throat like coarse gravel.

"Why," he replied, peering at her out of his good eye as he snapped the freshly cleaned barrel back in place. "You booting me out?"

"No, but I'm not paying you either." There was a small freight container near the door, and Shepard flicked an indeterminately clean sock off its lid before dragging it closer to the table to sit. "At least not the kind of creds Cerberus offered."

Zaeed finished reassembling the rifle with quick, automatic movements, then began wiping excess oil from his hands. "The kind of creds Cerberus offered are also the kind of creds that already cleared, and are already safely stashed where pissed-off shadow organisations can't snatch them back. I got my money, Shepard, and it's more than enough to retire."

That was unexpected, and she didn't even try to keep the scepticism out of her voice. "You don't seem like the retirement type."

He laughed again, a barking sound, and leaned back in his chair. "What, you mean lounging around some goddamn condo in a peaceful little colony, getting fat and uglier? With a _cat_? I'd rather eat my fucking gun."

He braced one boot on the edge of the table, tilting even farther back. If he'd been some cocky FNG, the pose would have easily been grounds for a smack, but Zaeed could somehow make that swaggering air work. "You remember on Illium? When I said I never work for a security firm?" When she nodded, he continued. "I enjoy my lifestyle the way it is. I like autonomy, and padded pockets go a long way in securing that for a while. I don't have to take another job right away, and you could sure as hell use the help."

Something still wasn't quite right. Shepard scratched her eyebrow. "You offering to stay and help? Out of the goodness of your heart?"

"Out of my goddamn good sense, more like." Chair legs hit the deck with a loud clang, and suddenly Zaeed was all seriousness and steel. _This_ was a man who'd made a few trips into hell, and _this_ was the reason Shepard had begun to trust him. "There's a mess of trouble coming, and you seem to be one of the very few not shoving your head up your arse about it. I haven't lived this long without first-rate instincts, and I think if we've got any chance at all, you're it. I'm sticking with you, Commander."

* * *

She'd checked with EDI after she'd stepped back into the elevator, and had been pleasantly surprised at Garrus' location. Apparently, the guy was making himself right at home, and that wasn't bad. Not at all.

She'd never had somebody to come home to before. It felt important.

"Hey," he said as she entered, barely looking up from the datapad he was reading. He'd claimed a seat over at the smaller desk down beside Shepard's sofa, and she could see definite tension in his spine, to match the extremely forced casualness in his voice. "What's the damage?"

"Privacy mode, EDI." She tossed her own datapads— three of them: a repair schedule, a requisition request from engineering, and a general medical update— beside her terminal, and stretched out the tight feeling in her shoulders as she descended the stairs. "Not as bad as I'd thought, actually. We're losing eleven crew, plus Samara, Grunt, and Jack."

Despite the dark mood lingering around the edges of her mind, and whatever Garrus was pretending to read, it didn't change the fact that he was just hanging out in her quarters. That wasn't something she was going to ignore.

Foregoing a seat on the sofa, Shepard didn't hesitate as she gently pushed his datapad aside and squeezed into the space between Garrus and the edge of the desk. His expression was a little surprised, but he still slid the chair out a bit, making her perch on his lap rather comfortable. It was all the better when his arm came up around her, and no armour on either of them meant she could feel the heat of him seeping up into the backs of her thighs.

"You're like a leathery hot water bottle, big guy," she murmured, and the corner of her mouth twitched just a bit when he lowered his forehead to hers. "I might just keep you."

The soft, multi-tonal rumble was a very pleased kind of sound— between it, and the feel of talons tugging the neat bun of her hair loose, Shepard wasn't ashamed to admit her stomach fluttered. A little.

"Doesn't sound half-bad," Garrus said softly, promisingly, but just as he began to nuzzle along her jaw, her comm terminal chimed. " _Damn_ it."

She sighed, unsurprised and incredibly frustrated that her long, stressful day wasn't over yet, and buried her face in Garrus' neck for one brief moment. "Shit. _Shit_." Being a marine wasn't a nine-to-five kind of life, and she'd _enlisted_ for that— being a Spectre and a rogue galaxy-protector didn't exactly increase her down time either. She very firmly reminded herself that calls to her private terminal were often important, and with a brief kiss to Garrus' cheek, she got to her feet.

"You're not done cheering me up, hot stuff," she said, tamping down her irritation with a bit of ridiculous humour. The comm chimed again, insistently, and she all but vaulted the stairs. "Don't go anywhere."

"I'm staying right here," Garrus replied easily, with a bit of a chuckle, and maybe he hadn't meant for it to be a meaningful sentiment, but it was.

Throwing herself into her chair, Shepard punched in the command code that would bring EDI back. The blue globe lit up beside the door, and Shepard turned around enough to give the AI her attention. "Where's the fire, EDI?"

"It is a priority vidcall from Councillor Anderson, Shepard. On a secure channel."

"Anderson?" Pressing the heel of her hand against her forehead, hard, Shepard counted to ten as her irritation flared. "I met with him this morning. Again. _All_ morning. What the hell?"

"You're cranky," Garrus piped up, and she whipped around to frown at him through the display of ships. The look prompted him to lift his hands in surrender, but with absolutely no apology on his face. "You're entitled, but hey, still true. Take a breath, and whoa with the death glare."

"You're getting awful mouthy, soldier," she growled back, but her frustration had lost most of its heat. Now she was just mildly annoyed. "Patch the call through; thanks, EDI."

Her console blinked, shimmering to life with a tiny image of her old captain. He didn't look terribly pissed off, so maybe the Citadel wasn't imploding.

"Shepard," he said by way of greeting. "I just got out of a meeting with the Alliance brass— longest damn argument of my life, and you had a starring role." Suddenly, there was a sharp, harsh voice in her head that sounded suspiciously like a particularly grizzled Gunny she'd met on her first posting out of boot camp.

 _Other people are being inconvenienced too, marine, so stifle your goddamn whining._

"Anything I should be worried about, sir?" she heard herself ask, her brain running on auto while her thoughts caught up, and she felt a pang of apprehension when Anderson shrugged almost guiltily.

"It depends on how you look at it." Okay, that sounded ominous. "That information you gave me about Cerberus ties within the Alliance? It's got some feathers ruffled." Anderson ran one hand over his head, smiling slightly with what appeared to be strained composure. "I'll spare you all the gristly details, but I will say that we're lucky neither of us is still commissioned. I'm fairly certain they'd already have the court-martial assembled."

Shepard felt her stomach drop. She didn't particularly like burning bridges, but it was especially distressing when she hadn't intended to light the fire. Garrus was shifting in his own seat, his expression a mirror of her own concern, but Anderson wasn't finished.

"Nothing was decided today— there's another round of meetings tomorrow, and I need you there in the afternoon. Fourteen-thirty hours."

She had wanted to be the hell away from the Citadel by fourteen-thirty, but there was a tenor of steel in Anderson's tone that kicked that escape plan right in the teeth. Instead, she nodded. "Of course, sir. Can you give me some idea of what I'm walking into?"

"Piles of bullshit," came the pointed answer, without missing a beat, and it was so unexpected that Shepard couldn't help but laugh. The reaction earned a chuckle from Anderson, which was something, but then the moment was gone.

"I won't lie to you, Shepard," he said, and suddenly his voice sounded like he'd aged a hundred years in a split second. "There's talk from some about trying to seize the Normandy, since it's based on classified Alliance design. Most positions aren't that extreme, thank god. There is a definite call for some serious debriefings, intelligence and tech sharing, all that. Losing you to the Council once was embarrassing, especially after what it took to get you to Ilos, and now they're blustering around like you bloodied their nose."

"Life is a negotiation," she murmured, remembering the sterile scent of a clinic after the acrid, rotten stink of the Omega slums. "We all give to get what we want." Before Anderson could comment, she snapped back to attention. "I'll be there, sir. Ready for whatever they've got."

"Good; thank you Shepard. I'll see you in my office tomorrow." And just like that, the comm went dark.

"Well, great." She took a deep breath, flexing out her fingers. She'd hidden it below the edge of the desk, but her hands had been clenched in painfully tight fists ever since _seizing the Normandy_ had been mentioned. That wasn't going to happen, no matter how ugly things got. The Alliance could go to hell if they thought they were taking her ship.

Garrus' mandibles were snapped tight against his face, even the scarred one, and that was a definite sign of displeasure. What a mood killer. "Ah, yeah. That could have been better news."

"Could have been worse, too," she added, but the thought didn't exactly help her frame of mind. Tugging off her boots, she stood and padded back around to the lower level of her quarters, and for a moment she considered bypassing Garrus altogether. The bed looked comfortable, quiet, and a lot like something she could bury herself in for the next few centuries. But no.

"C'mere," he rumbled, flanging deeply, and she followed the sound. Her higher thought processes were already busy considering variables and concocting contingency plans, and Garrus knew that. It didn't stop him from drawing her close, cuddling her up against his chest, and Shepard knew that his mind was running off in a dozen different directions too.

It was actually more comfortable, because she was confident that whatever happened the next day, they'd work it out. Nobody outmanoeuvred the pair of them.

* * *

"You're bringing the Cain? Really?" Shepard glanced over at Jacob, who was looking utterly askance, and twisted her mouth up into a fierce kind of grin. Her impressive collection of heavy weapons was laid out across one of the armoury tables, and the Nuke Launcher was a solid, dangerous weight in her hands.

"Too much, you think?" Regardless of the message such a weapon might send, Shepard was nothing if not practical. A conference room was hardly the most effective battlefield for the type of high-explosive slug that caused a mushroom cloud. Even if they ended up having to fight their way back to the shuttle, she didn't want to blow a hole in the Citadel. Setting the gun back in its place, Shepard hoisted the strange Particle Beam she'd found on Horizon, checking what passed for its magazine before slinging it over her shoulder. There was a familiar click as her hardsuit grabbed hold of the weapon, and she was good to go.

"All right, I'm headed to the hangar. EDI will transfer all command codes to Miranda when I disembark. Be ready for trouble."

Jacob shook his head, patting the hand cannon strapped to his hip. "Been ready for trouble since I met you, Shepard." There was a time when the idea of defending against a boarding party hadn't been fore in her mind. Things had definitely changed. "I'll man the forward battery— tell Garrus I'll be good to his guns."

"You're a gentleman, Mr. Taylor," she said, trying to sound less distracted than she felt, and the pair of them started out towards the elevator. Kelly glanced up as they passed her station, smiling in a way that looked both supportive and a little nervous.

"Good luck, Commander," the yeoman called, just as the elevator doors slid shut, and Shepard shook off her own edginess.

"I am so damn tired of trying to justify this mission, Jacob," she murmured suddenly, rolling her shoulder. Before her refit, that joint had always been not-quite-sore at the worst times— a reminder of Elysium, and a batarian she'd let get too close. He'd come up on her flank, a slug from his rifle tearing through her shields and the muscle of her deltoid.

He'd been the one to give her the scar across her face too, the one she'd lost somewhere in the void. She'd returned fire automatically, even as the agony lanced outwards and the blood ran hot down into her hardsuit, but she couldn't ignore the half-dozen bastards lurking out front. In the split second her attention diverted, laying down some suppression, the batarian was on her, with a serrated blade as long as her hand glinting in the light of her muzzle flash.

She still had the freckle on her left ass cheek that looked like New Zealand, but Miranda hadn't thought _that_ scar was important enough to put back on.

"The way I see it," Jacob replied, interrupting the memory she'd fallen into. "You've got nothing to justify, and you know my opinion of Alliance command. We don't need more enemies, true enough, but I doubt we've got a chance of getting an ally out of this." Artificial gravity pulled at her gut just slightly as the elevator decelerated, and then the doors were opening with a soft hiss.

The sound of chatter from the mess hall was faint, but audible, and Shepard jerked her chin out towards the corridor. "Yeah," she said, and she felt the words become reality as they left her lips. "I'm done tiptoeing around."

"If this has been you tiptoeing— _Hell_." Jacob stepped out onto the deck, keeping one hand braced on the open door. "I'll make sure the cannons are primed. Kick ass, Shepard."

"You know it." She smirked, forcing confidence to churn through her veins, and then the doors were closing again.

It was the Alliance, through Udina, who'd grounded her the first time. It was the Alliance who'd disbanded her crew, sent them drifting, and had done nothing but disparage the warning she'd left behind when she died. It was the Alliance, not the Council, who wanted to leash her most of all.

Spectres were given a goal and told to accomplish it. Marines very rarely, if ever, had that kind of liberty.

The hangar looked a bit crowded, but not unexpectedly so. When Shepard stepped out, she was braced— ready to blast her way through whatever goat rope was waiting.

"Mount up," she bellowed, and her ground team snapped into action. Armed to the teeth, she watched the four of them pile into the Kodiak, and gave Garrus' arm an affectionate punch as she jumped in behind him.

Garrus and Grunt for the muscle, Thane for the cloak-and-dagger, and Tali for the KO— and the Alliance had thought they didn't like her alien crew before. Just wait until they got a load of this.

She leaned into the cockpit, rapping twice on the bulkhead with her gauntlet. "Get her in the air, Goldstein."

"Yes, ma'am."

Since they'd moved the Normandy closer to the Citadel after her first meeting with Anderson, the trip wouldn't take much more than an hour. Shepard settled in her seat as the shuttle shuddered with the first purr of engines, and the warning lights in the hangar began flashing brightly through the viewport. She was starting to feel damned determined about this, getting her head into the mission, and it was a familiar place to be. She was _on_.

The Kodiak held twelve, plus pilots, so five wasn't cramped. Still, it was a little _cosy_ with a frustrated krogan pacing around, and through sheer mental-preservation, Shepard found her attention eventually wandering to the quarian who's helmet had been reflecting the orange glow of her omni-tool for over twenty minutes.

Determination— that flood of confidence that always seemed to overcome her doubts— tended to make her cheeky too. Hooking her ankle over her knee, Shepard raised one brow in Tali's direction.

"So, how's Kal?" There was a long moment of silence, but just as Shepard became convinced that her young friend was too distracted even for some mild teasing, the omni-tool flickered off.

Tali's head whipped up, and Shepard could almost see the blush that would have coloured her cheeks, if she'd been human. Whether or not quarians could actually blush, or whether it meant the same thing if they did, was beside the point. "I— what? I'm not… What do you mean?"

Grunt was off in his own world, growling and cracking his knuckles, and Thane was deep in mediation. Only Garrus was aware enough to groan at Shepard's dangerous grin, even as he continued to adjust the settings of his visor.

"Never mind," she chuckled, tapping her fingers across the plating on her thigh. "Just thinking out loud."

Tali shifted in her seat, looking _bashful_ , and it was so sweet Shepard couldn't help but smile. She leaned left, pressing her shoulder against Garrus', and got a low grumble for her trouble.

"I'm working here," Garrus griped, punching another few commands into the interface at his temple. His visor screen shimmered slightly, and she knocked him harder, ceramic clanking together.

"Me too," she shot back, glancing briefly at her own HUD to triple-check the settings. "I'm getting psyched. Can't you tell?"

Tali huffed out a breath, gusting exasperatedly through her respirator, and reactivated her omni-tool. " _I_ can tell this is going to be interesting. And Kal is fine."

* * *

Anderson definitely noticed her choice in companions for this mission— this _meeting_ — but he simply looked resigned. Udina, who was skulking around the edges of their group like an old varren as they discussed strategy for dealing with the Alliance brass, looked ready to pop a vein.

"Incredibly _stupid_ ," he was muttering to himself, shooting poisonous looks in her direction at every opportunity. "A slap in the face—"

"Damn it, Udina," Anderson barked suddenly, sounding every bit a hard-as-nails devil dog. Shepard felt her spine tighten automatically. "Shut up, or get out. I'm not in the mood to deal with your pissing and moaning."

"We're going to be late," Tali cut in, her voice bolstered with a kind of confidence that Shepard could tell was only partly forced. Tali knew her job, and she knew it well.

* * *

They _were_ late, but only a little. Now that the Alliance held a Council position, the human government was afforded certain perks they'd done without before. Access to one of the most impressive meeting chambers within the Presidium, for example.

The room was huge— more of an amphitheatre than a traditional conference room— but the stadium seating swooping up the walls was shadowed and dark. Only a ring of faintly softened light lit the long oval table in the centre of the ominous space, and the fourteen admirals and politicians seated around its polished surface.

Shepard understood battlefields, and psychological warfare. If they wanted her squirming, they'd miscalculated, and given her a distinct edge.

Thane was already gone, secreted away somewhere in the downright _convenient_ darkness. The brass hadn't even seen him.

Tali was stationed out near the lake, looking like any other quarian with her helmet buried in an omintool, but any other quarian wouldn't have had a geth chattering into her comm system. Geth might not intentionally infiltrate, but they did occasionally assist with a bit of hacking on the order of their Shepard Commander— with some of EDI's processing power diverted for the extra guarantee, they would be ready with the show when the time was right.

She'd told Garrus to look menacing, and Grunt to keep himself firmly in check unless she gave an order. Her scaly wingmen, her team… the three of them were damned impressive striding behind Anderson, if she did say so herself.

She swallowed back the urge to salute, instead dropping into parade rest without permission, and got a few twitching frowns for her trouble. Being on the offensive from the beginning hadn't been her plan, but then she'd seen the room's layout and the message it clearly conveyed, and she changed her mind.

"Good of you to join us, Councillor Anderson." Shepard couldn't risk considering these officials as individuals— she knew too many of the admirals, and their sour, disappointed expressions still cut deep. At least she wasn't staring across the table at her own parents, or the Joint Military Chiefs.

There were two empty chairs, separated enough from the rest to give the entire proceedings an air of interrogation. Anderson sat in one of them, but Shepard simply looked straight ahead, not meeting any particular gazes.

"Five minutes," Tali's voice crackled softly in her ear. If only bureaucracy moved as fast as her tech team, Shepard might not be wasting her time here.

She didn't look around for a glint off a scope. Thane was too good for that.

"You wanted your debriefing," Anderson was saying, very calmly. "And now Commander Shepard can speak for herself."

There was a pause, as if they expected her to start rhyming off a speech. She wasn't about to make it that easy.

She barely blinked. Eventually, someone spoke.

"Commander Shepard," said a very familiar voice, and she wasn't entirely certain if Admiral Hackett's presence was a boon, or a punch in the gut. Was he one of her supporters in this viper's nest, or had he finally had enough of her flying fast and loose with regs? "This information you've provided… it's troubling."

"Yes, sir," she replied smartly. If Hackett was on her side, she wasn't about to mouth off.

"It's _garbage_ ," someone else cut in, and she didn't have to look over to know it was one of the other admirals. She recognised MacEachern's drawl, and though she'd never met him in person, she still knew his current tone didn't bode well. He wasn't on the list of Cerberus' moles, or even on the pay-off list, but he was listed as a person of interest for future access. Shepard understood why such _interest_ coming to light would stick in his craw. "We're supposed to accept this absurd and potentially disastrous information on your word, when your own loyalties are suspect. Ridiculous."

"You're right, sir," she said, her voice steady and firm. "That is ridiculous. My loyalty is to my crew, and to galactic survival— I'm sorry that wasn't clear."

"And the Alliance," one of the politicians asked pointedly, the only clear voice within the sea of murmurs Shepard's last comment had prompted. "You've got no loyalty left for your people, _soldier_?"

More grumbling followed, and for a split second Shepard felt the military opinion in the room shift sharply in her favour, before levelling out again. She was a _marine_.

She lifted her chin, allowing the barest measure of danger to darken her words. "With all due respect, ma'am, I have shed blood for this Alliance my entire life. My actions now reflect nothing but absolute loyalty to my people." Jacob was right; she didn't have to explain herself to a bunch of shortsighted desk-jockeys. "And I'm going to do everything in my power to try and save _my people_ , whether you like it or not."

"You're not some autonomous—" someone started squawking, and she held up her hand.

"I am a Spectre. If you've got issues with my conduct, take it up with the Council." Making no attempts to slow her movements, no concessions for the tension crackling through the air, Shepard reached into one of the small compartments built into her hardsuit. Ignoring the nervous shifting and the one or two gasps at her sudden move, she threw the OSD onto the conference table. It skittered, sliding nearly perfectly into the middle.

"There," she said, linking her hands calmly behind her back once more. "Schematics for more than a half dozen massive upgrades, mostly for ships. Thanix cannon, multi-core CBT shielding, along with everything we've discovered about Collector and Reaper tech. It's already been sent to the Council, and any other stable government I could think of."

MacEachern turned red, then purple, and he wasn't the only one. "You _what_ —"

Shepard raised her voice just slightly, speaking over the growing objections. "The Reapers are coming, and everyone needs to be ready. Even if you don't believe me, I don't think you'll refuse this kind of military tech advancement, especially if everybody else has it too."

Anderson turned his head, giving her a definite _look_. The room was buzzing, the dam of civility was about to burst, and Shepard activated her comm the second she saw expressions harden and hands twitch towards terminals.

"Shut it down," she said softly, and a moment later there was a cacophony of aborted buzzing as calls for the heavily armed containment team waiting outside would not connect. Shepard didn't have to glance back to know the security interface on the conference room door was glowing red— locked.

"The room is silent, Shepard," Tali assured her, and Shepard took a deep breath. "Keelah se'lai."

"Shepard," Admiral Hackett began coolly, his large hands braced on the table's edge. He hadn't tried to call security. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Trying to maintain my liberty, sir, and a safe exit from this room. I'm not keeping anybody in, just keeping the troops outside off my ass. If any of you want to leave, you're free to do so." Jerking one thumb over her shoulder, she motioned to Grunt. "I could have let them charge in here, but I've got a krogan on my squad, and he gets a little excited when people point guns at us."

"Is that a threat—"

"Jesus, Anderson, _do_ something—"

"How _dare_ you—"

"This is unacceptable, Commander."

She shook her head, almost sadly, and glanced at Garrus out of the corner of her eye. "We're done here, then."

He nodded, and she drew some measure of solace from the memory of his solid, warm bulk. _Just about the only friend I've got in this screwed-up galaxy._ She wasn't all alone in this.

"Commander," Anderson cut in, turning fully in his seat to face her as directly as possible. It also had the added bonus of hiding the small changes in his expression from the brass. He was pretty good at bending the truth, but his eyes sometimes betrayed him. " _Spectre_. Please, we don't have to end this on bad terms. Surely there's some compromise possible here."

There were still a few leaning towards her side, and their voices rose in agreement. This was going better than she'd feared. Hell, no one had even drawn a pistol yet.

She paused, trying to appear as if she were considering the offer. "I don't want bad terms either, Councillor. I'm still a marine, and I don't regret a second of my service, but there's a threat out there I can't ignore."

Rather surprisingly, it was one of the politicians who spoke up first— an older gentleman with steely grey hair and dark eyes, who Shepard thought she might recognise from news vids. He spoke with an understated accent she couldn't place.

"We must negotiate a compromise," he said quietly, and all the other suits shut up. She chose to take that as a good sign. "This is too important to piss it all away because of our pride. Anderson, you represent the Council in these proceedings. Is it possible to hammer this out with you, and get all these goddamn guns out of my meeting?"

"Fine by me," Shepard replied, directing the words very obviously towards Anderson. The relief that flashed briefly over his face was nearly palpable.

"Ah, thank you, Minister." Anderson tilted his chin ever so slightly towards the door. "Shepard, I'll contact you."

"Yes, sir." On her mark, Grunt rumbled some vaguely threatening sound and started the slow, careful walk to the exit. She opened her comm channel as she turned to follow, with Garrus walking drag. "Cancel dampening. Green light."

Tali's answer came in the form of the main doors sliding open, revealing a half-dozen marines, all with assault rifles pointed their way. Shepard tensed, unsure whether she should prepare to lay out a few concussive rounds into the wall of firepower, or into Grunt's back before the young krogan tried to eat someone.

"Stand down!" Hackett's voice was clear, powerful, and thunderous even over Grunt's dangerous snarl. Barely a second of hesitation before rifles were lowered proved these marines were well trained, and Shepard did not allow her steps to falter as she shouldered past Grunt and strode out past their welcome-wagon. It would have been messy if Tali hadn't locked the doors, even if it was a tad theatrical.

It wasn't until they were a dozen metres removed from the conference room that Thane made his appearance, stepping smoothly from around a bulkhead and dropping into step beside her without missing a beat. The man was like mist when he wanted to be.

"So?" she asked quietly, very aware of the Presidium crowds they were currently melding back into. "Everything ran smooth, I take it?"

There was a little bit of red blood on Thane's wrist, no more than a speck, but it was gone in an instant as he casually adjusted his jacket cuffs. "It did. There were twelve hostiles hidden in the room— four snipers with support troops. I disabled them, but nothing worse than a few broken bones."

They were coming into the Presidium proper now, with the huge structure opening up before them like paradise caught in a bottle. Tali was just visible, sitting some distance away in one of the small green spaces around the lake, and her helmet gleamed with the false sunlight as she caught sight of them.

Not quite as subtle as their resident master assassin, Tali still made an effort to rejoin their party unobtrusively. Being careful of any valves or important tubing— not that anything vital to survival would be so easily damaged— Shepard reached out and gave one narrow shoulder a gentle squeeze.

"Excellent work." She grinned just a little, pushing very real concerns aside for a moment. "I'm feeling good about this. Maybe if Anderson gets back with decent news, we won't have to wait 'til Illium to have some shore leave."

That earned a low growl from Grunt, and Shepard rolled her eyes good-naturedly. "Don't worry, lover boy, we'll get you home first. Can't keep the female camp waiting much longer— I'll get nasty letters."

"Barring the sexually frustrated krogan," Garrus began, carefully side-stepping to place Shepard between himself and that very same krogan. He wasn't quite as suicidal as he had been, all those months before, and it made good tactical sense to duck behind the shield of a battlemaster. She was going to harass him for it later anyway, though. "Shore leave would be nice. A little time to unwind."

That did sound nice, but Shepard forced herself to answer with a vague, wordless noise. Actual verbal agreement would have meant speaking, and the idea of shore leave with Garrus did weird things to her voice. The thought that they might have some time, a few days of relaxation before allowing the complexity and insanity of their continuing mission… that was hard enough to wrap her head around without getting a little giddy.

The thought of spending a few days with Garrus, of practicing some of the more intimate aspects of their relationship until rather-awkward-but-hot transitioned to just _fantastic,_ was extremely appealing.

Her face felt a little warm, and Shepard had never been happier to see the darkened lighting of the Wards looming before them. Blushing like a teenager in the bright of the Presidium wasn't something she thought she could hide. Her team was too good, too observant, and she didn't need more knowing looks. Kelly's giggling was bad enough.

* * *


End file.
